


Found

by Spectra



Series: Wishful Reasoning [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Adoption, Gen, Kid Peter Parker, Peter Parker - Freeform, Protective Tony Stark, Young Peter Parker, but he tries he gets points for trying, but this is a universe where norse gods exist so lets prioritize ok, possibly incorrect foster system, questionable child rearing, tony stark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2019-12-29 23:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18303839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spectra/pseuds/Spectra
Summary: Tony Stark is living the dream.  A genius playboy with a pocketbook that could buy small countries, he spends most of his time partying and selling weapons to a military at war. He'd bartered off the last bits of his soul a long time ago, sporting the 'Merchant of Death' title with cocky nihilism. He had blood on his hands. If that bought him a one way ticket down under, he was fine with it.Or so he'd thought. A small, brown eyed toddler has somehow, inexplicably, thrown a wrench in everything. But there were hundreds, hell,thousandsof kids rotting away in New York's foster care system. Why did he care so much about this one?Or,Destiny decides to throw Tony a new fate. Headfirst. Right into his kneecaps.





	1. Fate

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prequel to 'Runaway' - all works in these series can be read independent of each other
> 
> God himself tried to stop me from posting this- but as always, I post the first draft and edit after the fact
> 
>  
> 
> -

A party in downtown Manhattan was exactly the kind of thing Tony needed after a long flight from Malibu.

He was going to be late. Fashionably late, of course. Part of the persona of being an eccentric billionaire was operating on nobody’s timetable but your own, and in that regard he never disappointed. 

Always a crowd pleaser, Tony had picked a flashy car to drive, speeding and weaving through the late night traffic. It was quickly becoming one of his favorites. Vivid orange, low to the ground, and it roared like a lion on viagra when he got the engine revved up. As it was, most of the other drivers on the road quickly took the hint when he pulled up behind them, barely flipping on their turn signals before switching lanes to let him through.

Which yeah, it made the drive ten times smoother, and that put him in a damn good mood. The roads were slick and wet from an earlier summer shower, the streetlight reflections making the pavement shine like silver. The flashy orange paint job picked up every light he passed, and damn if it didn’t look sexy. 

Flying down the road like silk, it was hard not to feel like some kind of god. New York’s most eligible bachelor. Infamous heart throb and heart breaker. (Sometimes both in the same night.)

All in all, not to boast about it or anything, but Tony had to admit being him was _nice._

He came to a smooth stop in front of his destination, a seventy story tall luxury condo building. Not bad. He’d heard a few intriguing stories about its rotating bar and open pool venue on the 54th floor, which was more or less why he’d actually agreed to show up.

He’d had drinks shaken, stirred, but never _rotated._ That’d be new. He planned on taking something strong on the rocks the instant he walked in, certain that the bartender would be thrilled to earn the official ‘Stark seal of approval’, which was apparently a thing between the more upscale bars in the area. 

Maybe he’d make it a thing. Print certificates. 

But in any case, his high was minorly deflated when he pulled in and there wasn’t a valet waiting. In fact, the street looked essentially empty, the only sign of life coming from the exuberant shouts and loud chatter coming from the 54th floor above. No doubt the valet had run inside at some point to escape the rain and didn’t come back out. 

_5 star building, huh?_

Figured. Maybe that’s what he got for showing up late. Instant karma or something.

Something Tony had learned early on was that rich people never parked their cars if there was someone else they could pay to do it for them. Same thing with getting dressed, cleaning the house, wiping your own goddamn ass, etcetera. His father Howard had operated under that philosophy, so why shouldn’t he?

Fuck that. Without losing a beat, Tony swerved sideways and parked across the street between two old sedans. Fuck the valet _and_ his old man.

Hands in his pockets, Tony stepped out, pocketing his keys with a small smile. One could never miss a prime opportunity to make their father roll in their grave, he firmly believed that. The car chirped as he locked it behind him, and he strutted his way over to the building’s front sidewalk. Time to have some fun.

Or so he thought. He honestly had no idea what hit him.

One second he was walking up to the hottest party in Manhattan, dead center on top of the world, and the next he was almost sprawled out on the pavement. 

Something small, warm, and _solid_ crashed into his legs. He let out a vivid curse as he struggled to regain his footing before he fell straight onto his face. Versace suits and Italian silk shirts weren’t allowed to touch the pavement, it was an absolute law. At least not while you were sober.

Smoothing everything back into place, Tony looked around him, intent on throwing whatever ‘valet parking here’ sign he had just ran into straight into the street for it to get runover by the next passing car. 

His eyebrows raised almost to his forehead when he saw what had almost dead legged him. It was most definitely _not_ a street sign.

It was… a toddler?

A small boy that was currently extracting himself from the sidewalk where he had fallen. Maybe three, four years old? Kids weren’t exactly Tony’s forte. The tyke had a wet mess of cropped brown hair that had stray curls sticking to his forehead, and a pair of deadly doe brown eyes that could probably make even the toughest of men cave.

_Adorable._ The word popped in his head without prompting.

“M’Sorry.” The toddler sniffled, wiping his cheeks. His face was flushed, like he’d been crying. In his hands he had a notebook, which he clutched to his chest like someone was going to try and tear it from him at any second. It looked like he’d caught the full force of the earlier rain shower, his clothes sopping wet. “Excuse me.” He went to move around Tony’s legs.

_Uh…?_ For a few seconds Tony was too stunned to move, staring after the dripping figure of the retreating toddler for several long seconds, like he was playing a game of ‘What Doesn’t Belong’ on the highest difficulty setting.

No, this wasn’t correct. Cue record scratch.

Ok. So this technically wasn’t his business. Tony had a hot date waiting for him and a crowd of people to entertain inside. The bartender was no doubt awaiting his ‘seal of approval’ with bated breath. He didn’t have time to stick his nose into other people’s problems, parental or otherwise. But something in him compelled him into action. 

A kid his age walking around this late at night? On an empty street? Looking like he’d just fallen into a _pool?_

“One second there, shortstack.” Against his inner judgement Tony quickly reached forward. In a single step, he had gained the distance of what had taken the toddler four or five. As gently as possible, he splayed a hand over the boy’s chest, drawing him to a stop. “Where’s your mom at?”

The kid couldn’t have been related to anyone inside; as despite being drenched in water his clothes were visibly worn. They were a size too big for him as well, and Tony would bet he was a real string bean underneath the tattered layers. A real life Oliver Twist wandering through the streets of New York.

He stared up at him with wide eyes, looking suddenly very scared. Intimidated. Unsure. He took a couple small steps away from him. “….Don’t have one.” 

He didn’t have a mother? “Your dad, then.” Tony pressed, brows furrowing.

The toddler shook his head, droplets of water falling from his hair as he backed up even further, looking ready to bolt.

So he didn’t have a dad either. Who the hell was watching him then? Tony’s inner, less responsible monologue was telling him to drop it, to go inside and get drunk on rotated mixed drinks like usual, to _mind his own damn business,_ but he couldn’t. 

Aware that the kid was about to run on him, he tried bending down a little, ignoring the way his knees protested. He’d read somewhere that adults were supposed to be at eye level when they talked with children, not that his dad had ever practiced that strategy. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, kid, take it easy.” Tony attempted. 

The words were barely out of his mouth before the toddler turned and ran in the other direction. “ _ **Shit**_ **-** ” The curse slipped out before he could stop it.

Without pausing to think, he jogged after him. It was too easy. Five seconds max to catch him.

In one swift move, he swept the kid off the ground, holding him up in the air from underneath his arms. The boy instantly started fighting like a wildcat, kicking and swinging with his little balled up fists, using his notebook as a makeshift weapon.

“Put me down! Down!” He shrieked, squirming. The frightened look in his eyes was replaced with pure fire, and Tony didn’t doubt he would try and bite him if he gave the opportunity. 

“Chill out, Jackie Chan, before you take an eye out!” Tony hissed, turning his head away from the onslaught of notebook pages. Why him? Why now? It wasn’t hard to overpower the four year old, but the kid’s spirit was nothing if not resilient. 

“Down!” The toddler demanded again, and his eyes were suddenly wet, a burst of tears cutting down his flushed cheeks.

Tony was drawn short. Wow, he hadn’t been joking when he’d thought those doe brown eyes were deadly earlier. The incoming flood of tears put a legitimate pang of emotion through his heart, and he didn’t usually _get_ emotional.

God fucking damn, if he wouldn’t do anything to get those tears to stop.

“Quit fighting me.” Tony argued, crushing down that crippling emotion. He was holding the kid as far away as he could. The notebook waving in front of his face was starting to get a little annoying, but with the right swing it held the real possibility of giving him a bruise. “Who the hell takes care of you?”

Translation: _Where do I put this thing?_

The toddler sniffled loudly, and his face contorted as he tried to keep his lower lip from trembling. Another few tears fell, and Tony tried to ignore how his chest tightened in response.

“I take care of myself.” The kid said adamantly. He stopped swinging the notebook, and instead tried to work his fingers around Tony’s grip with little success. “Let go!”

Tony snorted, unable to suppress a short fit of laughter. “You’re a little young to be doing taxes. You got a nine to five with Babies R Us?” 

“M’not a baby.” The kid said seriously. His mouth drew in an angry pout.

The pout destroyed him. _Okay, that’s kind of cute._

“Let me level with you, kid. You’re a heavier than you look, and my arms are getting tired. Problem is-” He raised an eyebrow for effect, “I’m not in the mood to go chasing you down the sidewalk again. So I’ll make a deal with you. If you promise not to run, I’ll put you down.”

The toddler went quiet, contemplating.

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Deal?” He had no idea if that’s how kids worked- if you could even _make_ deals with toddlers, but he waited patiently for some kind of sign that he was getting through. Businessmen were just toddlers with drinking permits, after all. It couldn’t be that much different.

For a second the boy looked like he was going either refuse or start throwing a fit again, but he eventually gave in. His body finally went lax underneath his grip. “Deal.” He mumbled stubbornly, the words barely audible.

Still skeptical, but unable to ignore the ache in his arms, Tony set him down. He watched him carefully, ready to scoop him up the second he turned tail. “Good to hear.” He bent back down. “Now let’s try this again. Where are you from and who takes care of you?”

The toddler’s mouth set in a tight line, staying infuriatingly silent. It looked like he was starting to shiver too, no doubt from walking around in soaked clothes for who knows how long. Tony couldn’t deny the kid had felt cold underneath his hands, and the leftover chill on his palms was compelling him to make some kind of decision.

Sighing, Tony ran a frustrated hand through his hair. _You know where you could be right now? 54th floor. With whiskey. On the rocks._ “Look,” He pressed, “I can’t leave you here on the street. So either you tell me now, or I call some people who’ll figure it out for me.” He held up a finger, “And let me add, both options have the same conclusion for you.”

The toddler sniffled, but otherwise stayed quiet. He wrapped his arms around his body like he was trying to keep himself warm, the shudder wracking through him becoming more noticeable than before. His eyes danced across the streets, still looking for a viable escape route.

_Dammit._

Option two it was. Taking out his phone, Tony stared at the screen for a few seconds. Who the hell was he supposed to call? The police? CPS? Scrolling through his contacts, he stopped at the Chief of Police for the local bureau. He’d scored the man’s personal number after an unfortunate mixup with a group of tamale dancers. Long story, complicated ending.

Tony dialed the number, giving the toddler a severe look as he held the phone up to his ear. “Hang tight for a second. No funny business.” He tried to make his voice as stern as possible. The toddler didn’t respond, merely looking up with him with a sour frown, his arms still crossed around his chest and notebook.

The call almost went to voicemail before the Chief finally answered, his voice rough and grumpy, like he’d just woke up. He didn’t even bother with a greeting. “ _This better be good, Stark.”_

“Lovely to hear your voice, Chief, it really is. Listen, I need a favor.”

“ _At eleven at night? Are you fucking kidding me-”_

Reaching over, Tony gripped the shoulder of the toddler, whose expression had turned into a kind of determined concentration, contemplating one of the street corners. When the kid looked up at him, Tony shook his head in warning and mouthed, ‘Stay’, before speaking back into his phone. “It’s not what you think, Chief. I found a toddler walking around the streets all by himself and I need you to send some guys to pick him up. Maybe find out where he lives. He clammed up as soon as I tried asking.” He gave an admonishing squeeze to the kid’s shoulder.

The grogginess cleared from the officer’s voice immediately. “A toddler? Alone? Where are you?” There were sounds of shuffling from the other end of the receiver.

Tony looked up at the party still raving on above them. “Party at the new Manhattan luxury condo building. 54th floor.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

The Chief’s voice dropped an octave, a rumble to a gathering storm. “ _Don’t you dare take that kid inside, Stark-”_

A grin teased the corner of Tony’s mouth. “Thanks for the help, Chief. Always a pleasure.”

“ _Stark-!”_

He hung up, pocketing his phone with a pleased hum. He glanced down at the small tot still lingering by his knees. “You a fan of parties?”

~~~

Tony had always been full of great ideas when it came to throwing people for a loop. The public never knew what to expect from him, and he defended that title with incredible fervor. Tonight though... He’d never be able to top tonight.

Walking in with a small, breathtakingly adorable toddler trailing behind his legs had been the most satisfying entrance Tony had ever made. 

Whispers and shocked murmurs had immediately broken out across the crowd, and Tony was practically preening by the time he reached the bar, overhearing a few of the louder comments. 

_Since when did Stark have a son? It can’t be his- look at what the kid’s wearing. Is an illegitimate kid really that surprising? Maybe an old flame is trying to claim it’s his… Who brings a toddler to an evening cocktail party? The kid’s pretty cute, though. Not that he should be here._

The boy looked like he was completely overwhelmed, his eyes as wide as saucers as he looked around the party venue. Marble floors, walls, ceiling. Anything not covered in gold filigree was coated in mirrors or crystal. Judging by the his demeanor, he’d never seen anything high class in his life, his big eyes reflecting every glimmering surface. 

For the briefest of moments, he felt the kid’s hands brush across his pant legs, like he was trying to hide behind him. His fingers grew white around the notebook cover.

The demure tug on his pant leg stirred something strange and unfamiliar in Tony’s gut, and he suddenly felt oddly protective. The idle cloud of gossip surrounding them quickly dulled into an annoying buzz as the toddler nervously leaned closer to him.

Trying not to dwell on it, Tony picked him up from underneath his arms before he could protest, setting the four year old down on the shining bar counter so they were eye level. He used his body to partially shield him from the prying eyes of the crowd. “Up you go, kid. Front row seat.” 

Another gentleman beside them snorted, eyeing the four year old from his velveted bar stool. “Front row seat to what, Stark? Your raging alcoholism?”

“Careful Jerry,” Tony smiled wide, “I might tell your wife which Gentleman’s club you frequent.”

“You wouldn’t.” Jerry scoffed, throwing back the rest of his drink. Despite that assertion he didn’t make another comment.

The kid watched them silently, his notebook still held tight between his fingers. Tony eyed it curiously. It had to be pretty important, considering he hadn’t loosened his grip on it since the sidewalk. Part of it wanted to wrestle it out of his hands to see what was in it, but the more logical part of him knew that’d probably result in a temper tantrum, so he resisted. For now.

The bartender came over then, his eyes drifting over his three foot tall companion in blatant question.

“Whatever you’ve got on the top shelf.” Tony cut in, avoiding the obvious. He gave the bartender a winning smile before taking in the nervous expression on the toddler’s face. “And a first class Shirley Temple for the little guy.”

There were a few beats of confused silence before the bartender complied. The guy was probably used to eccentric rich people, which was most likely why he didn’t ask any questions. A four year old sitting on the bar counter couldn’t be the weirdest thing he’d ever seen - probably didn’t even make the top ten.

Despite the initial hiccup, Tony had to admit the venue was everything that he had been promised thus far. The bar did in fact rotate, skirting across the building’s rear full view windows to provide a glimpse into the glittering city life below.

He turned his attention back to the toddler sitting quietly on the bar, heart dropping when he noticed he was still shivering. Shit, he’d almost forgot the kid was drenched.

Tony shucked off his jacket, wrapping it around the boy’s shoulders. The kid was so small he almost disappeared underneath it. “So,” He grinned as the boy visibly relaxed under the warmth, his big brown eyes watching him expectantly, “You got a name I can call you by?”

There were another few seconds of silence as the tot fiddled with the corners of his notebook pages, his face bunching up like he was trying to decide if he should say or not. “Peter.” He finally murmured, pulling the jacket around him a little tighter.

Tony’s smile widened into something bright and genuine. Finally, he’d managed to get something out of him. “Nice to meet you, Pete. My name’s Tony. Tony Stark.” He playfully held out his hand for him to shake.

It was clearly all new and unnerving, but Peter took his hand anyway, shaking it weakly. The small, cold fingers that wrapped around Tony’s hand sent another surge of protectiveness racing through his spine. Who the hell let a kid like Peter wander through the New York streets this late at night? In the fucking rain, no less. It was _criminal._

He made a mental note to find out.

The bartender came up then, handing Tony his glass. He gave Peter a small once over before offering up the Shirley Temple. Peter looked at it like it was alive, his eyes flicking up to Tony like he wasn’t sure if he could take it or not.

“Go ahead, Pete. You’ll like it, I promise.” Tony encouraged. He took a large sip of his own drink, wincing slightly as the whiskey burned all the way down to his stomach. 

Nibbling his lower lip, Peter eyed the cherry balanced on the top of the fruity looking drink temptingly. “Can’t have a grown up drink.” He refuted softly. His brows drew together as he turned to look back up at him.

That adorable little head tilt nearly killed Tony right then and there. “You’re absolutely right, little guy. But that’s a-” He caught himself before the word ‘baby’ left his mouth, “-well, it’s a kid’s drink. Sprite and cherry flavoring only.” 

At those words, Peter hesitantly tucked his notebook underneath his leg, accepting the glass. He balanced it precariously on his lap. To the bartender’s credit, he’d put a straw in it along with a tiny umbrella, which Tony was definitely going to tip him extra for.

The second the drink hit his tongue, Peter’s entire face lit up like the sun.

“Told you.” Tony smirked, “Though if you don’t eat the cherry soon, It’s going to be hijacked.”

Peter seemed to take the threat seriously, because his next move was to plop the cherry straight into his mouth. His eyes practically sparkled as he chewed slowly, like he was trying to prolong the flavor as long as possible. From the way that he was acting, Tony would believe the kid hadn’t tasted anything sweet in a long time.

Another crime to tack on.

Curiosity growing, Tony eyed the notebook again. Unable to resist any longer, he swiped it out from underneath the kid’s legs while he was still nose deep in his Shirley. A perfectly executed sneak attack.

Peter inhaled sharply, humming angrily from around his straw. He quickly put his drink down on the counter beside him, reaching to take the notebook back from Tony’s hands. “No!” 

Tony held the notebook out of his reach, taking advantage of Peter’s tiny arms and short stature. “Fair trade, kiddo. You get a drink, I get a look at your diary.”

“It’s not a diary.” Peter asserted firmly, “A diary is for _feelings_.” The initial outrage was quickly replaced with desperation as Tony started to open the cover. “No! You’ll make fun.” 

“Why would I do that?” Tony questioned, peering at him from above the pages.

“Everyone else does.” Peter murmured, his voice dropping back down to almost a whisper. His voice shook a little, like he was about to start crying again.

There was an embarrassed, almost ashamed note to the kid’s voice that piqued Tony’s interest even further, nabbing his attention. He paused before flipping to the first page, fingers hovering over the worn lines. “Everyone else? You have siblings?”

Peter shook his head, making another failed grab for the book. “The big kid fosters.”

It all suddenly clicked in Tony’s head. _Oh._ That… That made sense. If Peter was housed with fosters, that would likely make him a foster himself. Bullied by the older kids, buried in the system with several other thousand gremlins who most likely had issues of their own… Damn. It explained the hand me down clothes, the lack of parents…

_Orphan._

The word echoed painfully in his skull, nearly taking the breath out of him.

Tony fought the oncoming wave of flashbacks. He’d pretty much deleted that word from his vernacular several years ago, hardcore scribbled it out from his internal dictionary. He hoped that his friendly smile hid the way is lower jaw was starting to twitch.

He held up his hands in a three sign. “Scout’s honor, I won’t make fun.”

Pete probably had no idea what the boy scout code was. His big brown eyes blinked. “Promise?” His voice was quiet, tepid.

“Cross my heart kid, really.” In his head, _I’m not that kind of asshole._

Peter nodded his head gravely, like he had just made the most unbreakable of vows.

Amused, Tony waited for him to take another big sip of the Shirley before flipping the cover open again in a grand, overly gratuitous motion, like he was opening a priceless artifact and not a four year old’s worn out notebook.

The gesture wheedled out a spark of amusement in Pete’s anxious face. That or the sugar rush was about to kick in. It was hard to tell.

On the upper right hand corner of the page was a partially peeled off sticker. Tony would bet hardcore cash it was the address for whatever foster care home was currently keeping Peter. And he had a _lot_ of cash on him at the moment. 

Sure enough, the address was typed across in comic sans, bordered by butterfly clipart. _Jackpot._

If Tony’s mental map was correct, the toddler had wandered a considerable distance to get here. And to put it lightly, Manhattan was not kid friendly, especially at night. Tony flipped back the rest of his whiskey glass.

Yeah, they’d be getting a trip from CPS soon. Courtesy of _him._ He committed the address to memory. 

Peter was no longer shaking like a leaf, but was watching him carefully as he paged through the notebook. At most, Tony was expecting to see some doodles and other scribbles. A classic red roof house scrawled in cheap crayon, maybe a few stick figures here and there.

So when he saw the chemical formulas, he stopped short. “What are these?” He pointed to the first few scribbles of writing. 

“Maw-cools.” Peter said.

“Molecules?”

“Maw-cools.” The consonants and vowels scrambled in the tyke’s mouth. “They make stuff.”

Tony looked at him in surprise. “They do. They make a lot of stuff.” He tried to rack his brain for an explanation. How quickly did kids develop? Some internal part of him felt like this was too advanced for a toddler, that it would make more sense for the kid to be making block towers than putting together molecules- even if they were very basic.

Peter surprised him by opening up. He reached over and pointed to one of them. There were two circles labeled ‘H’, the other one ‘O’. “This is water.”

“It is.”

“This one’s Adam.”

 _Adam?_ The kid’s finger pointed to one of the circles, and Tony suddenly understood. _Adam_ as in, _atom._ The electron pathways were furiously scribbled, the pattern nonsensical but no less impressive for a toddler, he decided. 

It was also undeniably adorable. Peter excitedly walked him through the rest of the notebook. “I don’t know what this is, but it looks cool.” He said, describing one of the larger drawings. The rest of the notebook was full of more basic molecules, some 3-D shapes, and even simple multiplication. 

Multiplication. This kid was probably in preschool.

“You’re making Einstein look bad, kiddo.” Were all kids supposed to be this smart? All his memories of toddlers were comprised of drooling and ear splitting tantrums. He flagged down the bartender. “Hey, bud. Give my friend here another cherry, would you? I’d say he’s earned it.”

Pete was practically vibrating off the table now. His trust in him seemed to have increased tenfold now that he had kept his promise about not making fun of the notebook. Being dry and not freezing was helping too. Not to mention the sugar.

He’d managed to down the entire Shirley Temple, though where he’d put it in his small body was anybody’s guess. When the bartender handed him the new cherry, he held it in his hands like a prized possession.

His joyful smile was infectious, and Tony would have sworn the room felt a little bit brighter. He watched curiously when the tyke didn’t immediately chow down. “Not going to eat it?”

“I’ll save it,” Pete said seriously, eyes bright, “For later.”

Part of Tony wanted to point out that sticky sweet cherries didn’t keep well in dusty, lint lined pockets, but the kid was already jamming it in. It would probably be nothing more than mush by the time he got home.

Home. _When he went home to whatever hellhole had let him wander into the streets in the middle of a rainstorm_ \- He wondered if he’d nearly plowed into the kid with his orange sports car on his way in. He probably wouldn’t have seen him until he was nothing more than a streak on the asphalt. 

“ _ **Stark**_ -!”

There was a murmur of startled voices from the other side of the room, the crowd parting to make way for someone big and most definitely angry. 

“There he is.” Tony said cheerily. He drained the last of his glass, scooping a wide eyed Peter up and setting him on the floor. “Here comes your ride, kid.”

Tiny fingers dug impossibly tight into his pants, Peter plastering himself against his leg like he could somehow vanish behind it. The movement made another bolt of protectiveness go down Tony’s spine, and he stood firm as the Chief of Police came barging through the crowd. He felt like a mother hen with its chick.

The officer barreled through the remainder of the crowd, stopping just a couple feet in front of them. The years hadn’t been easy on him, his hair finally a full grey and his shirt slightly stretched in the middle. 

Still, he hadn’t given up arm day at the gym- his muscles were thick and roped across his upper chest, and Tony eyed them cautiously as he cooly met the man’s angry glare. He put on his most charming smile. “I knew I could count on you to come, Chief.”

“I should charge you with child endangerment-”

“You could, but you’re so grateful I got this little guy off the streets I don’t know if you have the heart to-”

“Don’t count on it. When I retire I’m leaving New York altogether,” The man said, red faced, “Every call I get about you puts another tick up on my blood pressure.”

“I’ll be sad to see you go,” Tony lamented, “Let me buy you a few drinks before you go at least. I’ve never had a dance partner quite like you ever since that night-”

“ _Not another word-_ ”

A tiny hand squeezed Tony’s thigh, and he was reminded of why he’d called Chief over in the first place. “Why don’t I introduce you to my new friend?” He shuffled his leg so that the toddler was visible, “This is Peter.”

It was like flipping a switch. The Chief’s glacier demeanor melted instantaneously. He dropped to his haunches, voice softening. “Peter. It's very nice to meet you. I’m officer Jeremy.” Slowly, he held out his hand. “I’m here to take you back to your parents, alright?”

Peter went quiet, sinking even further behind Tony’s legs. He was gripping so hard his knuckles were white.

“Don’t listen to him Pete,” Tony said, “His name’s Chief, not Jeremy.”

“Quit talking, Stark.”

It was a universal impossibility that he do that, so Tony continued. “I’ve got an address for you, so that’ll make your life easier.” When the Chief pulled out his notepad he rattled it off, and he watched as the man’s eyebrows rose. “It’s a foster home, right?”

“Yeah,” The Chief sighed, and something hideously familiar flashed across his face. _Pity._

Tony hated that look. He tapped his fingers on the bar with feigned patience. “Now I’m not a kid expert, but I thought that people weren’t allowed to let their kids wander around New York like free range chicken.”

“We’ll look into it.”

The Chief was good on his word, and Tony knew it, but something told him that a slap on the wrist wouldn’t necessarily prevent it from happening again. _Not my business,_ he reminded himself idly, _Fixing New York’s failing foster system is not on my ‘to do’ agenda._

Below them, a tiny voice broke the silence. “M’not going back.” 

“Hm?” The chief bent down so he could hear better. “What was that, buddy?”

“ _Not going!_ ” The toddler’s voice was suddenly pure steel. His fingers drove into Tony’s leg like nails.

There it was- that fire from earlier. He liked this kid’s spunk.Tony held back an amused laugh that was sure to get him knocked across the jaw. “You’ll have to pry him off yourself,” He said, reaching for his third glass of whiskey, “Because I’m not doing it.”

The look that the Chief gave him was volcanic. Still, he dutifully started to tug Peter away, which immediately proved to be far more difficult than either one of them had anticipated.

“No! _No!!”_ Peter screeched as he was slowly pried off, kicking and fighting. It was like trying to remove a rabid koala bear, and the commotion drew the eyes of several whispering onlookers. 

Tony felt like a human scratching post as both toddler and officer battled for supremacy. In pure fury, one of Peter’s tiny fists connected with the officer’s jaw, giving him a small window to squirm out of his grip. He must have realized that Tony’s leg was no longer a viable option, because the second he hit the ground, he started running.

There were a few sounds of alarm as Peter bolted into the crowd of people, going as fast as his little legs would take him.

This was definitely no longer his business, Tony told himself, watching the toddler vanish in the sea of legs. The Chief was hot on his heels, pushing the other partygoers aside to try and catch up. 

Tony took another sip, leaning against the bar. He’d done his job and notified the right people, so theoretically he was now free to drink as many rotated drinks as was medically possible. Mingle. Get drunk. Maybe get lucky.

Still, something annoying prickled in his chest. 

Tony turned to the bartender. “Would you say I’m morally obligated to help?”

The tender paused midway through a martini. “...Yeah.”

Fair enough. In one swift movement, Tony drained the entire glass, clapping it back down on the counter with an audible snap. He’d probably already had too much, considering he’d now drank three shots worth in just twenty minutes, but, chasing a toddler through an upscale party? He’d need a buzz for that.

Then he was moving. It didn’t take him long to navigate the clear path of destruction the two had left in their wake. The Chief had tripped over a champagne waiter and fell, and there were shards of glass everywhere, fizzy alcohol pooling across the new marble floors. 

“Getting too old for this?” Tony beamed as he stepped over the policeman’s colossal figure, watching the man’s face turn several shades of red under his greying hairline. 

Catching up was easy. All he had to do was quickly follow the trail of curious, confused expressions all the way to the balcony. He spotted the toddler’s tiny figure by the glass railing, his big brown eyes wide and frightened. 

No doubt he had no idea how to get back down. He was probably too short to hit any elevator buttons. 

When he turned and saw Tony coming towards him, he started running again, but Tony wasn’t an old police Chief who was a couple years from retiring- he was still in his 30’s, and even a few whiskey glasses in, his legs were a lot longer.

He swept Peter up, ignoring how he squealed. “Not so fast, road runner. You’ve got nowhere to go.”

“Down! I want _down!_ ”

“I’m getting a serious case of Deja Vu here.” Experience told Tony to keep the flailing limbs away from his face, so he opted to pin the kid at his side, carrying him along like a football. Peter’s screeching tantrum was drawing everyone’s attention now, and they were getting several dirty glares. Someone nearby whispered that this was why you never brought kids to parties.

 _This is why I don’t have kids, period._ Tony thought to himself idly. 

The squeals gradually morphed into sniffles, and there was absolutely no doubt that Pete had started crying again. He sagged up against Tony’s side, most likely figuring out he had no chance of escaping. “You’re mean.” He whimpered pitifully.

“I’m the meanest guy you’ll ever meet. But I got you a cool drink and cherries- I thought we were friends now.”

It took Peter a few moments to consider that. “Not ‘nymore.” He sniveled.

“Stark-!” The Chief of police appeared in front of them, out of breath and with champagne drenching the entire front of his uniform. He was quick to take Peter out of his arms, jacketing the kid’s hands to his side to keep him from fighting again.

A strange, traitorous part of Tony hadn’t been quite ready to hand Peter over, and he felt his mood dampen when he saw the stricken expression on Pete’s face. _Don’t look at the eyes, don’t look at the- fuck._

Big, misty brown eyes stared back at him, heavy with the look of betrayal. Jesus, he’d hand that kid a blank check if it would just stop him from looking at him like that. It was like being shot right through the heart. 

“Thank you for your help, Stark,” Tony mimed, “I wouldn’t have been able to do that without you-”

“You’re on thin ice.” 

“Always.” He winked. It seemed that his plan to be noticed had been a raving success. Everyone was watching them, men in tailor cut suits and women in flutes of silk colors, whispers ricocheting across the room faster than he could count. They hadn’t allowed press into the party, but cameras were probably clicking somewhere.

In the corner, the hotel owner was eyeing Tony and shaking his head, as though disbelieving that the billionaire had managed to get the police called within the first hour of arriving. Attendants were hurrying to clean up the glass.

From the Chief’s arms, Peter sniffled, burying his face in the uniform shirt. He didn’t seem to mind that it was drenched with champagne. “Do I gotta go back?”

Even after getting socked in the jaw, the Chief wasn’t immune to Peter’s characteristic cuteness. His tone went soft, and his grip slackened. Like magic. “Yeah, I’ve got to take you back, buddy.” He gave Tony a meaningful glare, “This place isn’t very good for kids, so we’re going to take you someplace that’s safe.”

“Just putting this out there,” Tony said with a smile, “When he goes back ‘home’ smelling like alcohol, it won’t be because of me.”

The look the Chief gave him could strip paint.

It was the little things like that which kept him going, Tony decided with a grin. He watched Pete carefully as the Chief prattled on about needing a kind of statement or whatnot. Honestly he wasn’t listening. The toddler looked absolutely miserable, eyes red and mouth drawn.

He wondered if anyone else’s chest was hurting from the sight of it.

When the Chief finally started to pull away, Tony gave the Peter a small salute. “Seeya later, kid.” Even though he probably wouldn’t. He didn’t do door to doors with foster homes, and it was a big city. Still, the kid was smart and damned likeable. Even though it probably wouldn’t become a reality, he decided to toss out a line. “Look me up when you get older- I could use a smart guy like you at my company.”

Peter perked up at that, eyes bright with questions. What company? What did he do?

The Chief quickly interjected. “Keep away from him, Stark,” His eyes went cold, “The last thing he needs is a job offer from a bloody warmonger.”

Ouch. That stung.

There were a few chuckles that echoed around him from nearby eavesdroppers, but Tony decidedly took it in stride, holding his smile firmly in place. Wasn’t the first time he’d been called that, and it wouldn’t be the last. Numbers couldn’t be tacked onto the amount of blood that his inventions had spilled under the cloak of patriotism. 

All for the greater good, the company’s press would state. In the name of our soldiers. The punchline was that Tony sometimes believed it himself.

The last he saw of Pete was his pale face staring back at him from the elevator, eyes still shiny and red ringed. When the elevator doors closed he gave Tony one last little wave, the words ‘bye’ forming in his mouth.

The aching tug in Tony’s chest shouted abuse, and he quickly decided that he was in desperate need of finishing his glass of whiskey. One glass more and the strange emotion would dissipate like mist on a windy day.

His bartender friend was watching him as he sidled back over, chasing the last spot he’d seen his glass. Interestingly enough, it was empty. 

“I’ve been robbed.”

The tender shrugged. “Can’t watch everyone.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Like the guy wouldn’t have been watching the famous Tony Stark’s whiskey glass like a hawk. He had a sinking feeling he knew exactly where the contents had gone- poured right down the drain.

Under scrutiny, the tender finally shrugged. “Drinks and kids don’t mix, man. Thought three would’ve been more than enough for a guy on babysitting duty.”

The word Tony and babysitting were not physically compatible. Whipping out his wallet, he dropped what was probably way too much on the counter. “Keep the tip.” He’d rather drink pool water than have his already questionable actions further scrutinized by a bartender that was making way too much sense.

“Wait.” The tender called him back over before he could slip away, holding something towards him. “Your friend left this.”

The notebook.

Shit. Tony bit back a regretful curse, taking it. If the kid wasn’t already having a tantrum in the Chief’s car, he’d be wailing by the time he got back to his crappy foster home. He thanked the tender and wandered away, torn.

He had no idea what to do with it. 

A few people snared him into mindless mingle, but he eventually peeled himself away, uninterested in talking business. That or about Peter. The arrival of a four year old and a police officer seemed to be the only thing people cared about right then. He found himself in the floor’s lounge area, and he set the notebook down on one of the side tables. Jesus, if only it would fit in his pocket.

He settled into a leather seat, wishing he had some kind of distraction. The universe gave it to him semi-immediately.

The second Tony sat down on the leather couch, he was instantly surrounded. At least three women moved in next to him, and he shot one of them a winning smile as he was handed a straight glass of bourbon. “Ladies.”

Maybe he did need another glass. The scent of perfume washed over him, stale and flowery. 

A blonde Tony didn’t know put her hand on his chest, a smile splitting her face. “I didn’t know you had a kid, _Mr. Stark._ ” Her voice made his name sound like pure sin, and she sidled closer to him until their legs were touching. “I never took you for a man to settle down.”

“He’s not _my_ kid.” Tony said, twirling the drink in his hand, “I found him on the street outside.” Drenched, shivering, clearly lost. He’d almost ran right over him.

“Poor thing!” Another woman cooed, and she crossed her legs, the slit of her dress generously revealing her upper thigh, “I hope his mother wasn’t worried.”

 _Orphan,_ ran through Tony’s head again, unbidden. He grabbed the word and smothered it, burying it as deep as it could possibly go.

“I doubt it.” He said, grabbing and flipping through the notebook again. He remembered how tightly Pete had been clutching it, like it was the only thing he had. 

“That his?” The blonde murmured, close enough that her breath tickled the shell of his ear. She was clearly annoyed that he wasn’t giving her his absolute attention, and one of her fingers wound into his hair teasingly.

If he weren’t so distracted, Tony thought, he’d probably be really enjoying himself right now. A brief sip of the bourbon didn’t help. “It was. Is.”

“He’ll probably miss it.” The smell of mint was spicy on her breath.

“Yeah.” Tony sighed. What the hell was wrong with him? He flipped open the front page again, eyeing the sticker with the foster home’s address. A terrible, wild, and utterly irresponsible idea occurred to him, making him smile. Chief would have his rocks as a pair of paperweights if he found out.

“You know what? I’ll just visit and return it to him.”

The strange ache in his chest told him that was a fucking great idea.


	2. Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We curse in front of small children like men
> 
> I may make edits over time, so let me know what y'all think

All in all, Tony had no idea how he’d gotten back to his rented penthouse.

In fact, he couldn’t remember much of _anything_ from last night, aside from the Chief and the lost toddler. But then he’d put even more drinks in his system, and his memory went down the metaphorical shitter.

Everything after midnight was all blank. Empty. Nada. The last time he’d looked at his watch at the party, it’d been somewhere around three am, a small collection of empty glasses littering the tables around him. Someone warm had been in his lap, but he couldn’t remember the face through the haze.

He may have fallen into the balcony pool at some point, but that was all blurry too.

Tony turned, slyly craning his neck to see if anyone had stumbled into the penthouse with him. Shockingly- mercifully, the tangle of sheets next to him were empty. If he’d scored with someone, they’d already left. Which was fine by him. He wasn’t a touchy feely ‘pillow talk’ kind of guy.

Fighting the wave of nausea, Tony sat up and rubbed his temple. His bedside clock told him that it was two in the afternoon, which meant he’d already missed four meetings. Most of them were for cementing trade deals concerning his latest upgrade to heat seeking missiles, so he was definitely going to be in hot water. Regardless, he mentally crossed off whatever work he had scheduled for the rest of the day. He wasn’t going anywhere with this headache, and he wasn’t in the mood to broker deals.

It was going to take a lot more than angry, bloodthirsty old men to get him out of his Egyptian Cotton sheets.

Tony let himself doze another half hour before he dragged himself out of bed, stretching like a contented cat. Albeit a hungover one. A visit with his mirror told him he was still in his silk shirt and Versace slacks, though nothing short of a dry cleaning visit would save their rumpled state. He wiped at the traces of lipstick still coating his neck. There were at least three different shades.

Carding a hand through his hair, he internally debated between coffee or more whiskey. In the end, he got a pot of coffee brewing. 

A brief glance at his phone confirmed his suspicion that people were pissed about his absence. Viciously disinterested, Tony flew through them. Work, work, more work. He stopped at a text from an unknown number. 

‘ _Another party at a luxury condo building on Park Ave tonight. Hope to see you there- xoxo’_

Who the hell was this? Maybe that faceless blonde had somehow wheedled out his number, between making some of the many splotches of colored lipstick that was still benignly stained across his throat. He made a mental note to toss his cell in the garbage disposal as soon as it was convenient.

Park Avenue though, _that_ intrigued him. It was well known for its upscale hangouts. Since it was only four in the afternoon, he could take a cold shower and be lowkey presentable by the time the party took off. It would be difficult to top the entrance he'd made last night, but if anyone could think of something, it would be him.

A tempting thought.

He was mentally planning the escapade when his phone dinged. Pepper, his terrifyingly efficient handler. No doubt she’d done damage control today. She was definitely annoyed, and being on her hitlist was a surefire way to get his ass kicked.

‘ _You came to New York to work, Tony, not to party the whole time.’_

Classic Pep. He could practically hear her hiss the words. Tony popped open a bottle of ibuprofen. Actually, partying was _exactly_ the reason why he had come down here. He’d packed a red velvet suit to prove it. What, did she think he was going to wear that monstrosity to a _business_ meeting? 

He threw four pills back, washing them down with scalding hot java. He trusted Pepper to keep things from going absolutely batshit. If the company hadn’t spontaneously combusted yet, it could wait one more night.

Tony leaned against one of the floor to ceiling windows wrapped around the penthouse. He idly inspected the city horizon, waiting for the caffeine to give him a much needed spike of energy. After which the pain meds would chase away the remnants of his alcohol induced migraine. One toxin for another. The city was buzzing below, the faintest specks of movement visible in the thin valleys between the mountainous buildings. In contrast, the penthouse felt empty, sterile. The sunlight that splayed over every inch of the white modern furniture felt traitorously cold.

Open to the world, but startlingly fragile.

_Lonely._

Fuck. Something slow and dangerous started to burn in his chest. It jolted him into movement. Back in Malibu, he would have buried himself in the workshop to drown out that thought, but here he had to settle for a second option. 

He was going to that Park Avenue party. 

His phone buzzed with more urgency. Pepper again, this time labeled as urgent. 

‘ _I have a filed police report on you from last night- what the hell were you doing? Call me now.’_

...A police report? What, had he stripped naked or something during his blackout? Or, equally likely, the Chief had actually pushed charges for child endangerment. Tony was going to have a small fit if it was. Saving small toddlers from being kidnapped was supposed to be a classic hero move- so what if the tyke had gotten a brief taste of the night life afterwards? It wasn’t like he’d given the kid a swig of whiskey. In _that_ regard, at least, he was better than his father.

Then again, everything after midnight was a blur. It wouldn’t be too far fetched to assume he did something questionable during his blackout. Lost memories stirred just beyond the haze of his hangover, shouting dull obscenities through the fog. _Important,_ they shouted, _You need to remember._

But Tony was in the mood for forgetting. Humming, he flipped the phone shut. Pepper could deal with something like that. His need for a shower was a much larger issue than his party fouls. He tossed his phone back on the counter. 

And if the infraction was related to the kid? The look on Pete’s face after taking a sip of that Shirley Temple was a potential cure for cancer.

He regretted nothing.

\--

The enjoyment of a brisk shower was short lived.

 _You would think,_ Tony mused, _That I would know better by now._

Maybe he could blame this one on the lingering migraine from his hangover- but by any kind of reasoning, he should have known Pepper would come to personally tear him a new one with her five inch stilettos.

He’d barely stepped out of the shower and thrown a shirt on before he heard the telltale snap of her heels against the marble floors, a furious and rapid tempo that would make most men hurl themselves out of the window in sheer terror.

Tony was definitely one of those men.

Pepper didn’t give him enough time to pry the nearest window open, clearing the room in record time, a dreaded manilla file in hand. She held it up like it was the New Testament, her expression two degrees short of turning him into a pillar of salt. “I’ve been calling you.” She sharply accused, “I’ve been calling and you haven’t been picking up.”

Despite her fury, she looked great. Tony couldn’t help but notice it as she marched herself over. Against better judgement, he gave her a cheeky smile. A black dress, quarter sleeved. Her hair was down, and there was a slight curl to it. Had she curled it for the meetings today? She never did that unless it was important. 

In a flash of wisdom, he held up his hands in surrender. When it came to a furious Pepper, it was better to roll over and play either dumb or dead. “Hey, I was in the _shower._ I can’t call you back when I’m in theshower- _”_ He lifted his brows suggestively. "Although if you wanted me to-"

“You’re not in the shower now.”

“ _I just got out-_ ”

“The police have been calling me nonstop. Officer Jeremy was _this close_ to coming over here and handcuffing you personally.” She held up the file, ‘This report is going to catch fire the second the press gets their hands on it, do you understand? You need to fix this _now,_ before it gets out of control.”

All that over last night? The city seriously needed to occupy their officers better if they had time to fester over benign nonsense. Tony shook his head and laughed. “Whatever gripe Chief about has won’t hold up. He’s just mad because he ended up wearing a bottle of Dom Perignon.” He looked down at her shoes distractedly. “You look good. Are those new heels? They look new.”

She wasn’t amused. “We’re fixing this. Now. Put yourself together, It’s taken me almost all day to cut this deal and we’re not going to mess it up.”

His wet hair was dripping on his shirt, reminding him that he still wasn't presentable. Snatching a towel, he started scrubbing it dry, nodding absently as Pepper continued her tirade. “Alright, alright, if it pleases the jury. I’ll take a look at it.” 

They exchanged a long, silent look. Tony glanced meaningfully at the bureau next to him. 

With a near hiss, Pepper set the file on the bureau in lieu of handing it to him directly. “You’re ridiculous.”

Swiping it up, Tony distractedly made a show of opening the file. Maybe one day he’d be okay with Pepper handing stuff to him directly. Maybe. Probably not. “Alright, Chief, what are you on me for today?” Nothing interesting, that was for sure.

He read the report.

And then read it again.

Then a third time, to make sure that he wasn’t hallucinating.

Striking the earlier assertion that it wasn’t interesting, Tony wheezed. The universe had just effectively bitch slapped him across the face. “What the hell is this?” He managed. 

_It was important,_ the lost memories crowed, _We told you so._

According to the report, he’d shown up at a foster home at approximately three am, throwing rocks at the windows and waking the whole house, shouting indecipherable nonsense before finally stumbling away just minutes before the cops showed up. Tony had no recollection of _any_ of it.

“You tell me.” Pepper said.

“I can’t.” Everything past the bar last night was a total and complete blackout. He couldn’t even remember how he got home, much less how he… He looked up. “I mean, they definitely know it was me?” 

Pepper angrily tapped one of the attached photos. Sure enough, the proof was in the pudding. Whomever had made the accusation had been sure to take pictures. There he was, in drunken, blurry glory, hanging out in front of the accusing foster home. It was a blown up flip phone picture, but his trademark goatee was visible, the white of his Italian silk shirt damningly distinguishable.

“I don’t remember any of this.” Tony said, needlessly. A part of him wished that he _had_ stripped naked at the party. It would have been far easier to deal with. “Why the hell would I harass an orphanage at-” He looked at the timestamp, “Three in the morning?” From the rest of his drunken infractions, this one was absolutely the most out of character. He was the kind of guy who fell into pools or took several women home at once, not the weirdo who wandered the streets and threw shit at windows.

He started scraping against the blank wall of his memory, demanding it yield him more answers. He remembered the toddler, the rotating bar, the Chief, the women… Well, some of the women anyway.

The answer was obvious, he knew it. It was staring at him right in the face, but he couldn’t connect the two simple dots.

“Tony,” Pepper started measuredly, “I promise you that I have absolutely no idea what goes through your head when you’re drunk.” She snatched the manilla folder back from him. “Regardless, you need to finish getting _dressed,_ and then we’re going to drive over to the _foster home,_ and apologize directly.”

Foster home was just a fancy term. They were all orphanages, plain and simple. The idea of having to go to one was numero uno on Tony’s ‘absolutely never fucking do’ list, but he had little choice.

He muttered a couple low curses as he combed his hair back and stepped into a pair of loafers. Part of him wanted to don his ridiculous red velvet suit, simply out of spite, but he had a feeling Pepper wouldn’t let him get halfway out the door with it. He settled for a two piece Burberry, deliberately spending a little longer than he should have in front of his mirror.

He swiveled and held his arms apart in presentation. Not bad, considering he'd woken up from a hangover an hour or so ago. “I’d date myself.” He decided aloud, winding Pepper’s irritation even tighter.

He looked again longingly at the tangle of sheets on his bed. Waking up with some random woman would have been far better than this. Since when had he left a party without scoring? Where the hell had his priorities gone? But wherever his sanity had gone last night, he still forced himself out the door. ‘Tony Stark Terrorizes Small Orphans’ was definitely not the kind of newspaper cover he wanted. It wouldn't be the most shocking, but it was less eccentric than plain evil.

Pepper followed closely behind, the driving clack of her heels like nails in a coffin. It was seriously dampening Tony’s post-party high, headache aside. Part of him wondered if he could get away with driving himself. He patted his pockets hopelessly. He hadn’t seen the keys on the counter.

“Have you seen the keys to my orange Audi? I can’t find them anywhere.”

“Where’d you last have them?”

Tony cursed as he flipped on his sunglasses. “The Manhattan party last night.”

Pepper shook her head, typing away on her phone. “Well you weren’t using the car when you showed up at the foster home, which shows that you _at least_ have enough sense not to drive drunk.”

But not enough sense to keep track of the keys, apparently _._ Either he’d left them with the valet, or some putz in Manhattan was getting the ride of his life. When he’d discussed funding more charities with his board of directors, that was _not_ what he had meant.

Fuck. And he’d actually _liked_ that one.

Tony slid into the waiting limo, tapping his fingers on the sleek leather as Pepper sat beside him. He crossed his legs and muted his phone, which was still buzzing insistently. A brief search of the mini fridge revealed nothing but seltzer water. He shot the driver an intimate look of betrayal before raising the privacy glass. 

His Park Avenue party was now on the line. “How long of a drive?” Tony asked, checking his watch. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner he’d be on his way over. 

“A little further East in Queens.” Pepper said airily, sorting the folder’s contents, “Only about ten minutes if the traffic is light. I have your lawyers on standby over the phone.”

Considering it was rush hour, Tony frowned. Not that he was against being fashionably late, he just needed a distraction. Pronto.

Since he was now under scrutiny, he continued to hopelessly dig at the blur that was his night. He remembered finding the toddler, Peter, and taking him inside. He’d treated him to a Shirley Temple, and had found out the kid was a mini Einstein. Then the Chief came and took him away, kicking and screaming. The mere memory of those misty brown eyes was enough to send a ghost of pain through his chest. 

But past that? Nothing. Maybe a blonde or two, a brunette that had gotten handsy. There were other details he couldn’t dredge up as well, something about Pete that was nagging him as vital information.

"The buyers weren't happy you missed all of the meetings we had scheduled." Pepper delved, her voice suspiciously even. 

"We knew they were going to buy those missiles anyway," Tony said, "They didn't need me to hold their hands as they crossed T's and dotted their I's." After getting a whiff of his latest project, all of their buyers had been after the technology like sharks scenting blood. Which was going to be the result of their use, blood and gore and death, despite firm promises that it was for dire situations only. Some of the casualties would likely be civilians too, if experience wrought him any idea.

But that wasn't supposed to be his concern.

"No," Pepper said, "But we need to maintain relations, and it's also important that we let them air and discuss needs and ideas. You know that they've already found out about your work with-" She waved her hands nonsensically, "Those, gravity bombs or whichever. They wanted more details about it and I didn't have anything to tell him."

"Freeform anti-gravity propellers." Tony corrected absently, rubbing his face in his hands, "But the gyroscopic aspect is still- Look, I don't know if it's you or Obadiah who's been going through my servers and spreading this stuff around, but if they keep hounding me I'm going to rebel and change all the passwords."

"It's not me." Pepper denied, "Work it out with Obadiah. Whatever the case, I need you to get your act together. The parties, the women, the drinking, it's- it's-," She struggled, " _fine_ , but not when you keep doing it like this. You're getting worse. I mean, a couple years ago you would have at least _tried_ to make some of these meetings-"

"Drop it," Tony whined, "I'm having daycare flashbacks, any more of the mothering act and I'm going to regress."

"To what?" She fumed, "You're already a manchild."

Tony plastered a hand over his mouth to hide his laughter.

As it turned out, the ten minute drive turned into a thirty minute one, Pepper cooling to a glacier beside him. To occupy the time, Tony tracked their progress out the window. One of the many intriguing traits of New York was how quickly you could go from a wealthy neighborhood to a poor one. Oftentimes it was a difference of a single block.

The streets gradually got more rough, the buildings older. Eventually they started passing ones that were boarded up entirely. Walls became a labyrinth of color, the graffiti mostly a cheap and senseless scrawl of names. Grass fought between the pavement lines, trash steepling next to the sidewalks. If they got mugged, he was never going to let Pepper live it down.

The short limo attracted attention as they navigated the more clustered neighborhoods. This far from the main road, they were probably presumed as lost. Rich billionaires didn’t go waltzing around the rough neighborhoods very often, and never without good reason.

And he’d walked here drunk for some imperceptible reason. The heck.

Kids ran across the sidewalk as they came to a stop. Most of them looked similar to how Peter had. Clothes too big, too worn. Tony rolled down the window, flipping his sunglasses back on, ignoring how the kids gawked. The promise of Park Avenue propelled him out of the door, and he adjusted his shirt collar as he inspected their destination.

When he faintly recognized the building, he started giving the whole debacle a little more credit. 

It was old. Not the charming kind of old either. It was more condemned than antique. But he somehow _knew_ it, the faded paint and rotting shutters sparking a hazy memory. Dammit.

“This might be ringing a few bells.” He admitted.

He didn’t look over, but he could _feel_ Pepper’s glare on him. “An apology.” She clarified firmly from beside him, “That’s all you need to do. Fess up, tell them you’re sorry, and they’ll drop the charges. No jokes, no sarcasm, no _quips._ You can do that, can’t you?”

 _No._ “Yes.”

Pepper was definitely not impressed, but there was little else she could do. Handling him was like trying to bottle mist.

“Wait a second.” Tony said as they stepped out. Something hit him. The irking feeling started to blossom into a realization. He looked at the surroundings, pulling up a mental map. He counted the streets on his fingers, ignoring how Pepper impatiently tapped her foot behind him. He ran it through his head twice more before it clicked.

Understanding dawned on him in one horrible wave.

The toddler had been wandering the streets alone that night, which was why he’d brought him inside and called the Chief in the first place. And the address…

_Peter was a fucking orphan. This was his foster home._

“Fuck.” He announced, and he leaned heavily against the car door. " _Fuck._ " The kids nearby giggled at the expletive.

“Suddenly remembering your misdeeds?” Pepper queried smoothly.

“I know this place.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Shit. The address, I mean.” Tony contemplated banging his head against the car door as he realized just how deep this shithole actually was. Because he couldn't have just had a regular drunk blackout or anything, he had to go the extra mile and _really_ screw himself over.

Figured that this wouldn’t be just any old orphanage.

“There was a kid at the party last night.” Tony clarified for her, “This was the address he was from.” 

Pepper’s eyes went a little wide, and she paused. “So you stalked a kid home.”

“ _No-”_

“That’s what it’s sounding like-”

“No, I didn’t- I mean why would I?” He had better things to do than follow a toddler home, no matter how damningly adorable they were. He’d just been… The rest of the night came flooding back. The worn out notebook. The bartender _handing_ the priceless thing back to him, after the kid had been forcefully carted off. A faceless blonde halfway across his lap, whispering a damning sentence into his ear.

‘ _He’ll probably miss it.’_

He’d been trying to return the lost notebook. God dammit. 

“I don’t know, Tony,” Pepper threw her hands up in the air, “I don’t know why you do the things you do, just that I’ve got to mop up after. I just told you in the car how this is getting out of control.”

“No.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, contemplating another pain pill. “No, I’ve got this. I know what happened.” In his drunken haze, he’d probably tried to go and return the notebook in the dead of night. He’d drank enough that it would have seemed like a good idea at the time. “Actually...” The last of his morning grogginess left him in one sharp snap.

Peter, shivering on the bar counter, practically melting into his warm jacket. He’d walked miles in the middle of last nights rainstorm in clothes too big for him. Right smack in the middle of dangerous Manhattan.

He’d also intended to call CPS on these clowns.

 _None of your business, Stark._ A voice reminded him, but he shoved it aside.

Something hot was reviving in his chest. He remembered now. He’d promised to make a few phonecalls about these incompetent assholes. He straightened, examining the building with far more purpose. It seemed like last night was about to come full circle. “So they want an apology, huh?” 

Pepper nodded cautiously. “Just that.”

If she found out he was about to wreak havoc, she’d shove him right back into the limo. So Tony whipped up a stunning smile. “Sure thing.”

\--

The orphanage was about what Tony expected. Tight handouts had left the home a shell of what it had probably been, memories etched out on every surface in a canvas of worn out plaster and scratched, sun washed floors. The furniture looked worn, a considerable distance past ‘well loved’ and bordering on ‘garbage dump.’

Which is why when the woman running the place greeted them in a nice blouse, slacks, and Jimmy Choo flats, Tony’s already degraded opinion of the place dropped to an all time low. What kind of sleaze bought brand name clothing when their kids didn’t even have shoes that fit them? His friendly smile turned into an empty show of teeth. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” The woman sniffed. Her hair was combed into a half bun, her eyes a sharp and condescending hazel. She was just tall enough to peer down at Tony from above her nose. 

Tony fought the urge to laugh as Pepper smoothly extended a hand. If this backstreet Miss Hannigan sought to intimidate him by using her height, she was about to be sorely disappointed. 

“Ms. Johnson.” Pepper replied, watching Tony from the corner of her eye, “Good evening... I remember when we spoke over the phone you wanted to have the Chief of Police present- Ah.”

The Chief rounded the corner then, his bulk almost comical in the small, worn out door frame. He didn’t, Tony noticed with humor, have time to dry clean his police uniform. His muscled arms were slung haughtily across his tool belt, dominant hand resting temptingly on the taser. 

Self preservation demanded Tony fight the urge to lean in and see if the shirt still smelled of alcohol.

“Stark.” The Chief greeted roughly.

Tony grinned, dropping his voice so that it was suggestively husky. “Chief. Tired after last night?” 

“See where your talking gets you, Stark.”

“Almost always someplace good.” Tony said, eager to see just how far he could push, but he stopped when a stampede of footsteps pounded above them, followed by the shrieks of multiple children. The faintest trickle of dust fell from the ceiling. He fought the urge to dramatically cough and wave his hand in front of his face to clear the air.

“Excuse me,” Ms. Johnson grit, and she turned her glare towards the top of the stairs. “No running!” She shouted. When the chaotic rush of footsteps didn’t recede, she primly charged up the staircase. 

Tony raised a brow at the rafters. A likely feast for termites and dry rot. “Think it’ll cave in on us?” He jokingly asked Pepper. He was rewarded with a sharp scowl.

The Chief wasn’t amused either, and his frown deepened. “I’m not messing around today, Stark,” He warned, “One false word and I’m putting you in cuffs.”

 _One can only dream,_ Tony wanted to shoot back, but Pepper’s heels were dangerously close to his foot, so he refrained. “Did you start an investigation on this place yet?” 

The fact that they were all standing in a dilapidated apartment building that was probably several years past being up to code wasn’t lost on any of them, but the Chief shook his head, eyes flinty. “Something else took precedent.”

So the Chief had decided getting him in trouble was more important than child endangerment. Deep down, Tony knew that wasn't true, that the Chief was a good man despite his flaws, but it was still irritating. He tapped his foot, formulating a sharp retort that would absolutely get him suplexed into the floorboards, but he was cut off. 

“Oh, hello.” Pepper greeted suddenly, and all eyes went to the doorway just a few feet further in the hallway.

A familiar face peered around the corner, and the tension momentarily subsided.

“There he is.” Tony grinned, wide and genuine, smoothly pocketing his hands as something unraveled in his chest. “My partner in crime.”

“Hardly.” Chief whispered hotly behind him.

Peter inched out from behind the doorway, expression wide and bright. His hair looked wilder now that it wasn’t plastered to his head, curls sticking out everywhere in a soft halo. He was wearing a jersey shirt that still a size or two too big for him, the edges worn and frayed, drawing attention the fact that he was indeed a little too skinny for his age. His face lit up when he recognized Tony. “The cherry man.” He greeted softly.

He was just as adorable as Tony remembered, those doe brown eyes nearly sending him into cardiac arrest. “The cherry man,” He echoed, “That’s acceptable. I’ll take it.” He lowered himself down so that they were eye level. “I heard you got your diary back last night.”

“ _Notebook._ ” Peter corrected imperiously, and he was successfully coaxed into the hallway. “You brought it back.” The corner of the notebook in question was poking out through the bottom of his too big shirt. 

Even here it seemed he couldn’t part with it, Tony observed. He wondered just how badly the tyke was bullied that he didn’t dare leave it unattended. 

“Is that why you came here, Tony?” Pepper said, her tone deliberately light. If they weren’t in the company of children, there was no doubt she’d have a lot more to say.

“Why didn’t you take it to the station?” The Chief added tightly.

“I had nothing but concern for your blood pressure. _”_ Tony smiled, and the red on the Chief’s face went up a considerable degree. He shot Peter a cheeky wink. “And maybe I wanted to see my new friend again.”

The casual use of ‘friend’ made Peter’s brows lift in surprise. It also lured him even closer, until he was right in front of his knees. He raised his arms in a ‘pick me up’ motion.

If Tony took a picture and plastered that adorable image on a postcard, he’d make bank.

But Pete was kind of like a stray puppy, he reasoned. You weren’t supposed to feed or name them, otherwise you’d get attached. _Nevermind that he’d already broken both of those rules-_

Tony briskly stood, clearing his throat and shaking his head. “Sorry kid, not this time. I had my fill yesterday.” The look of rejection on Pete’s face sucker punched him, and he immediately tried to gloss it over. “So tell me, squirt, you chow down on last night’s takeout yet?”

Peter paused, processing the topic switch. After a moment’s deliberation, he started digging in his pocket, prying out a glob of red mush that was almost indistinguishable from the lint that was mixed in with it. He looked unabashedly pleased with himself for having saved it for so long.

“That’s the ticket.” Tony laughed.

Ms. Johnson descended the stairs then.

“ _Oh, Peter-”_ The woman snapped. Quick as a whip, she yanked out a few tissues and bent down, cleaning the sticky mess from his fingers. “That’s disgusting.” She had to hold Peter’s wrist as he howled, clearly upset to lose his prize.

“You got him food?” Chief said, “What if he’d been allergic?”

“Spare me.” Tony sighed dramatically, “Now you’re just grasping.”

Pepper stepped in, speaking above Peter’s cries. “Excuse us, Ms. Johnson. We realize that you’re incredibly busy and we’re grateful you took time out of your schedule to see us.” She gave Tony a pointed glare, “We’d like to offer our recognition of the circumstances.”

Tony could see it in her eyes. _Stick to the script._ He was supposed to give a heartfelt apology and express regret for the incident. Assure them it wouldn’t happen again and extend a show of consolidation between the New York community and the Stark company as a whole. Blah, blah, blah.

But something red and hot had been boiling in his stomach since yesterday night. Something that was suddenly starting to rear its head, dark and ugly. He still had a perfectly clear mental image of Peter, cold and sopping wet, alone and wandering the streets.

Here, now, with the four year old’s pitiful face in front of him again, the feeling slipped past all of his filters. This far in the game, he wasn't scared of being blunt.

Tony smiled wide, and finished digging his grave in one sweet, horrible sentence.

“The only thing I’m sorry for, _Ms. Johnson,_ is your shit excuse for a foster home.”

There was a collective intake of breath as the whole room froze. Even Peter stopped crying, his brown eyes going wide as he stared up at them. There were a few seconds of stillness, nobody knowing how to react.

Then everything exploded.

“Tony-”

“What the _hell did you just say to me-”_

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, Stark-”

“So what,” Tony spoke above them, smoothly adjusting the buttons on his jacket, “A four year old runs off from here and wanders the streets and _I’m_ the asshole?”

Pepper was desperate to insert herself between him and the Chief, who had uncrossed his arms and was rapidly approaching, the floor struggling the uphold his bulk. “I’m taking you to the station, Stark, _that’s it-_ ” His hands reached for the handcuffs clasped to his toolbelt.

Tony didn’t even flinch, eyeing the cuffs and beaming. “You remember my safe word, Chief?”

The Chief turned a shade that went beyond the scope of the color wheel. He was like a raging bull, and Tony had just waved the red cape.

There was a mass of confusion as everyone started yelling at once. A group of kids who had been spying on the staircase above started shrieking in excitement as the Chief surged forward, while Ms. Johnson was calling out above the noise that she wanted to press charges, as the Chief started shouting charges from behind Pepper, who was trying and failing to defuse him.

“Stop!” Peter’s small voice split through the chaos, and he riddled between their legs like a streak of wind. He planted both palms against the Chief’s leg and tried to shove him away. He looked scared as hell, but Tony recognized that same streak of fury from the night before.

Ms. Johnson angrily swept him up, hauling him through the sea of confusion and tossing him in an opposing room. She shut the door solidly behind her. Peter’s small voice wasn’t audible, but the door was visibly rattling.

Tony flipped on his sunglasses. Tomorrow’s headline wasn’t promising.

“Just get him out of here.” Ms. Johnson fumed, pointing towards Tony. She turned her pert nose towards Pepper. “I don’t care how rich you snobs think you are. You’ll most definitely be hearing from us.”

Pepper was clearly troubled, but her face didn't betray it. She lifted her chin in response. “Likewise.”

Knowing when to make an exit, Tony swiveled towards the door. He paused meaningfully at the front step, eyes narrowing on the still rattling door that was holding Peter back. “Pleasure meeting you, Ms. Johnson.” He nodded towards her expensive footwear. “Nice shoes.” He then explicitly turned his gaze to the obvious disrepair the building was in.

The woman’s mouth coiled.

Outside, Tony was again cursing the driver's blatant swap of his whiskey for plain seltzer water. It was something his other bodyguard, Happy, wouldn't have done to him, but the man was taking a much needed break in California. He waited by the car patiently for Pepper, who had somehow worked her magic, since the Chief didn’t follow him out and tackle him into the pavement.

Breathless and flushed, Pepper fell into step next to him as the Stark legal team pulled into the street. The orphanage’s door slammed shut behind her, though the battle was far from over.

“You’re an idiot.” Pepper said, as if this whole debacle was proof of why she made such a hefty paycheck.

“Sometimes.” Tony shrugged. He turned to the first lawyer that stepped out of the limo. “Call CPS. And tell me what you have in your limo's mini fridge.”

\--

Several hours passed before Tony got back to his penthouse.

His irritation had gradually murked into cold indifference. CPS had been notified by his legal team, and they would respond within a thirty six hour time frame. If the Chief was more interested in personal vendettas, he’d work around him. The Chief’s help would have been nice, but it wasn’t mandatory.

 _None of your business,_ the voice in his head sighed once more, but he was too far down the metaphorical rabbit hole to give a shit what was or wasn’t his own beeswax. 

Peter’s scared face kept replaying in his head. What a fucking shitshow.

“No Park Avenue party?” Pepper queried, surprised but hesitantly pleased. It had gotten late, but nobody would have blinked if he showed up.

Tony slammed the car door shut. “No.” He could craft his own destruction without the prying eyes of cameras and the naked flush of skin. He had all the necessary tools in his penthouse liquor cabinet. Even his lawyer's limo fridge had been empty of everything except for some Sprite. he was starting to suspect Pepper of paying them off.

All that, and his wallet was inexplicably missing. He wondered if it’d fallen out of his pocket at the orphanage. First his car and now his wallet. His mood took another twist downwards. “My wallet’s missing.”

“I’ll freeze the cards.” Pepper waited a beat. “Goodnight, Tony.” She said, voice softer. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Pity. He could hear it in her voice. _God, he hated it._

The elevator had thankfully been empty. He feared the kind of sardonic mingle his head would come up with if he had been forced to mindlessly chatter with strangers. He didn’t even bother to turn on the penthouse lights when he got in. The glimmer of the city was the only thing he needed to light the room, a multicolored streak that lengthened the shadows into grotesque shapes. 

He made it to the counter, noisily clattering out a suitable glass and one of his bigger bottles of scotch. If the night got long he’d dip into his whiskey stock. 

Tony had barely poured his first glass when fate came calling.

Life had a way of going from one dramatic to the next. One day he’d make a breakthrough in inventing, the next he’d get a call about how both of his parents were dead. So when he got a phone call from the front office, he wasn’t sure what kind of karma was at work. He tipped back his first shot before answering.

“ _Mr. Stark?”_ The clerk asked through the receiver, uncertain.

“The one and only.”

“ _You have… Well, you have a visitor._

Ah. This karma was decidedly optimistic. He hummed from around his second scotch glass, enjoying the burn all the way down. He shucked off his Burberry coat, tossing it on the nearest auspicious surface. A little bit of risque company would definitely be welcome. “Are they cute?”

The clerk paused before answering. “Absolutely adorable, sir.”

“Send them up.”

Now that he was expecting company, Tony flipped the lights on and undid his top button. He wasn’t going to Park Avenue, but at least he’d have something else to distract him for the night. Still, how the hell had someone gotten his address? His mind went to the blonde that had hacked his phone number from the Manhattan party. Getting both his phone number and address was no small feat. That or he actually _had_ brought someone home with him last night, and now they were coming for seconds.

Which, Tony didn’t usually _do_ seconds, but tonight would be a worthy exception.

He brought out another scotch glass, curiosity peaking as the elevator announced his late night visitor’s arrival.

When the doors opened, Tony spat his drink out all over the counter.

Standing there in the elevator doorway was the skinny little frame of Peter, his wallet clutched in his tiny fingers.


End file.
